


Vati, Please Make it Back Safe

by FourAlignments



Series: Ha'umah Shelanu [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Discussion about the Cold War, Discussions about WWII, Erik Lehnsherr Actually Being Jewish, Erik Lehnsherr Has Feelings, Erik Lehnsherr Speaks German, Erik Lehnsherr Speaks Hebrew, Erik Lehnsherr is a Father, Erik Lehnsherr is not a Happy Bunny, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Food Porn, Gen, Genosha, Genosha Funds the Arts, Hank McCoy Maybe a Genius but lacks common sense, Hank McCoy is an Idiot, Hurt Pietro Maximoff, In Regards to Apocalypse's character, Jewish Pietro Maximoff, Protective Erik Lehnsherr, dadneto, references to other fanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourAlignments/pseuds/FourAlignments
Summary: Erik is getting ready for a mission, but his son starts acting up and he won't tell him why.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr & Hank McCoy & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr & Pietro Maximoff, Hank McCoy & Charles Xavier, Pietro Maximoff & Charles Xavier, Pietro Maximoff & X-Men Team
Series: Ha'umah Shelanu [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931242
Kudos: 34





	Vati, Please Make it Back Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Now the first question is why did this take so long? Well you already know about Indy, but I was getting ahead in my classes; for two of them I got all my reading done until the midterms; for my totally online class before Covid hit, I got done with all the quizzes for the semester and all I got left for that class is the exams and four homework assignments; I've started to apply to Internships in my major; there was also the case of Hurricane Laura and up next is Beta and family coming up; family issues; so lots of stress. But this also means I have more time to write, the only that's keeping me going since I barely hang out with my friends at college. So power to Fandom! 
> 
> I just hope you enjoy getting a two fics in one day deal!

“Is something wrong, my sohn?” Erik asked, looking down at his son’s plate filled with half a juicy warm roasted chicken coated in garlic, lemon, rosemary, and herbs of provence; and orange citrus stuffed down into the inners while it was cooking in the oven, which percolated and flavored the white and dark meat of the bird; with crispy skin though lightly burned in some areas, but that made it all the more better. On the side were pearls of toasted Israeli couscous drenched in zingy lemon, sweet peas, cool mint, delicate yellow onion sweating from the heat from the stovetop and the mild bitterness of curly parsley. Along with the vegetable of the dish fire-roasted grilled zucchini, charred with grill marks on its flesh; which took a while for Pietro to actually eat when he first introduced his son to the vegetable. It was at the time when the X-Men payed a visit to Genosha; it was nice seeing his old friend. Though Hank in his infinite wisdom decided to bring his favorite snack: Hostess Twinkies. And gave one to Pietro.

Oh…the mess his son made…running so fast that he kicked up dirt in his wake, making ditches and got up to speeds where he was whipping up wind into tornados. Luckily, Orono was there to calm the storms. Once Pietro burn himself out of energy, he was still in a full body vibration, not subtle vibrations, but jerky movement; making Pietro so hard to hold in his arms. Before crashing completely, exhausted, dizzy, and sickly. It took several weeks with the help of the X-Men to get Genosha all fixed and repaired, before returning to Westminster, New York. 

Though the crisis didn’t end there, Pietro took it upon himself to travel, without anyone noticing that he was gone, to Xavier’s school to plead Hank for more Twinkies. When he couldn’t feel the metal of the necklace that Pietro wore, so he could keep track of him despite his high speeds; the metal singing to him. He nearly had a heart attack over the sheer panic of Pietro not being on Genosha. His many enemies would not hesitate to kidnap his son to be used against him, his mission, his cause, and Genosha’s sovereignty. With likes of the US government, William Stryker, Church of Humanity, Purifiers, Hellfire Club, the entirety of the pharmaceutical industry, who butchered and experimented on his kind for wonder drugs and cures that were jacked up and sold to the general public for profit; other imperial powers, who made mutants their pawns for hegemonic supremacy on the international stage.

Pietro just wasn’t safe. Nor did he have the training and experience of controlling his powers to confront these types of men that would not show restraint because he was a mere child; let alone a mutant child, who showed outwardly with his mystical sliver hair that made humans jealous of its beauty and color. He was a mutant, a highly coveted mutants due to his connection to his father. The only son of Magneto, mutant terrorist. Not Erik Lehnsherr, the father.

He spent the entire morning searching Genosha with a search party. Pietro wasn’t just his son, but the child of every mutant on the island. He represented the hopes and dreams of Mutantkind living without the threat of oppression, extermination, and persecution. Pietro was a being of hope for so many.

During sunset, Charles contacted him through Cerebro. Oh! Boy what a day he had with Pietro running amok with not just eating one Twinkie, but dozens upon dozens of: Twinkies, Ho-Hos, Snoballs, Ding-Dongs, Zingers, Cupcakes, and Honeybuns. He was seriously considering that Hank wasn’t the genius he claimed to be. Charles had finally got Pietro under control, a feat end and of itself. Once he finally got to the Mansion, Charles was _trying_ to teach Pietro breathing techniques and meditation to be able to calm himself. He played a game of chess with Charles for old time sake, before taking a thoroughly exhausted Pietro back to Genosha. When Hank finally poked his head out as he was saying his goodbyes.

Oh! He wanted to kill Hank McCoy right then there for getting his son addicted on to the overly sugary treat: Hostess Snacks. The bane of his existence with their barely edible, highly-processed, drenched in High-fructose corn syrup; should not even be considered food with all additives, flavors, and coloring that half the time he couldn’t even pronounce; and even could survive Nuclear Annihilation; ‘Snacks.’ It made raising his speedster son, even more troublesome and difficult. But he had to settle for a simple glare that would make the walls of Jericho come crumbling down, the Leviathan to shutter and sink back into the dark depths, and the Behemoth to bow its head in respect. Much to his surprised Charles was giving Hank a look that he hadn’t seen since Cairo; would make Apocalypse quake in his boots. He had to admit was tiny bit sexy.

Americans and their very sweet, sweet, sweet palate; too sickly for his tastes. It made his teeth ache just thinking about it. Now, all he needed to do was contact and convince Hostess Brand Company to make all their sweet treats Kosher. So, Pietro could eat them in the future, under supervision, hopefully Pietro’s metabolism would level off as he got older. At the time it wasn’t that amusing, but now looking back the memory. Erik let out a breathy short laugh.

“Why do say something is wrong, Vati?” Pietro scooting his couscous around on his plate. Erik saw Pietro’s plate, it was not licked cleaned, still filled with food, despite his son saying that he was hungry a few hours earlier; usually Pietro would be on his third or fourth plate by now.

“Well, you hardly eaten anything off your plate.” Uncovering more of the still cooling braided challah bread from underneath the covering, “There are at least three more loafs that you haven’t eaten. I know one is for French toast tomorrow morning for Torah study---So what is bothering you, my sohn?”

He didn’t enjoy putting Pietro on the spot like this. But normally, Pietro would tell him what was on his mind or what he was troubling him. Pietro fidgeted and squirmed in his seat. His mutation made it very hard to contract and focus his thoughts for much of the time; his thoughts, ideas, and feelings rushing through like a freight train. Pietro complained about his head hurting because of the rushing thoughts and it was getting worse as he grew older. _B'ezrat HaShem,_ Pietro’s thought speed would level off to bring him peace. So, Erik waited for his son to collect his thoughts in a meaningful manner.

Pietro’s metal fork and knife clattered onto the porcelain plate, stunting him out his thoughts: “Why do you have to go?” Pietro crossing his arms,

“Pietro, you’ll understand when your older. But there are mutants out there---Who are less fortunate than us; who need our help. That’s why I go on theses missions to emancipate them.”

Pietro sank back into his chair, “Why can’t I come?” Mumbling under his soft breath.

Erik replied concern lacing his voice, he desperately wanted Pietro to understand, “It’s too dangerous, Pietro. There are many people out there, who would love to get their hands on you Pietro because of _me._ And would do anything get to me.” He couldn’t lose a third child; he would break if that happened; he’d had enough tragedy in his life. He just wanted peace and happiness for himself, Pietro and Mutantkind. Pietro’s dark eyes that were like water reflecting fire, peered back at him, not believing a word he said. Erik steeled his expression vying for another strategy, “Pietro I’m not a mind reader or an empath, so you have tell me what you’re feeling? You’re making me very worried.” Perhaps, Pietro was having a hard time identifying the emotion that he was feeling…or someone was bothering him or…he just didn’t know.

Pietro sank back into his chair and crossed his arms, “Why do you have to go?” In a low torrent voice, kicking his feet against the chair, before mumbling something Erik couldn’t hear: “It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to go.”

“Pietro we’ve been over this---” His son jumped out of his chair and slammed it against the edge of table, scuffing the dark wood varnish, despite Pietro small statue he was quite strong for his age. He didn’t have time for this. An old-world grandfather clock chimed throughout the house singing Big Ben’s tune, the Westminster Quarters. Erik turned to check the time It was six thirty already. Pietro had to be in bed by seven fifteen, then there was the dishes to do, putting the leftovers away, winding down Pietro for bed so his thoughts wouldn’t disrupt his sleep with their speed, he needed to get ready for the mission, he needed to dress in his armor and doing a swept of the house to make sure all the doors were locked and Pietro hadn’t gotten out of bed. All the duties of being a father and a leader for his people. “Since obviously you’re done with dinner,” Reflecting Pietro’s own attitude in his response, tinged with sparks of anger, annoyance, and frustration, “We need to recite _Birkat Hamazon._ ” Pietro turned his back toward him, crossed his arms and drummed his foot against the hardwood floor like Thumber at quicksilver speed.

What was with Pietro tonight?! This wasn’t behavior he would aspect from his son and he would still not tell him what was wrong. In the living room across from them. The sabbath candleholders standing on top of a cabinet with blue and white stain glassed blown by Genosha’s glassblowers, who turned a technique that had been with humanity since the cradles of civilianization and born out of the fertile crescent of Mesopotamia and Ancient Egypt, into their own; many mutants, who humanity deemed too dangerous with their ability to control fire, often stereotyped into uncontrollable arsonists and pyromaniacs, now competed with the likes of Dale Chihuly, William Morris, and Jack Storms. The candleholders themselves, Erik made with light and creativity flowing through him, bloomed with iridescent turquoise, purple, and rose gold tarnish.

Erik gave a heavy sigh, before singing the prayer:

שִׁיר הַמַּעֲלוֹת בְּשׁוּב יְהוָה אֶת שִׁיבַת צִיּוֹן הָיִינוּ כְּחֹלְמִים. אָז יִמָּלֵא שְׂחוֹק

פִּינוּ וּלְשׁוֹנֵנוּ רִנָּה אָז יֹאמְרוּ בַגּוֹיִם הִגְדִּיל יְהוָה לַעֲשׂוֹת עִם אֵלֶּה. הִגְדִּיל יְהוָה

לַעֲשׂוֹת עִמָּנוּ הָיִינוּ שְׂמֵחִים. שׁוּבָה יְהוָה אֶת שְׁבִיתֵנוּ כַּאֲפִיקִים בַּנֶּגֶב. הַזֹּרְעִים

בְּדִמְעָה בְּרִנָּה יִקְצֹרוּ. הָלוֹךְ יֵלֵךְ וּבָכֹה נֹשֵׂא מֶשֶׁךְ הַזָּרַע בֹּא יָבוֹא בְרִנָּה נֹשֵׂא

אֲלֻמֹּתָיו.

Erik scooted out of his chair and gave a sigh, before gliding over his and Pietro’s forks and knifes over to the kitchen sink and flicking on the valves and clear, clean water gushing out the faucet, slowly heating up; Erik adjusted the temperature so it wouldn’t scalding hot. “Can you help me with the dishes, please Pietro.” Erik said as he walked over to the sink, dipping the dirty forks, knifes, and other minor utensils used for preparing their dinner. Scrapped off the gunk with a fresh washcloth, that he put out that evening, before opening the dishwasher and guiding them into the eating utensils holder.

Out of the corner of his eye and the rushing breeze against his back, a flurry of sliver dashed across the kitchen and breakfast nook :the leftover challah was saved in gallon plastic bags, he guested along with French toast that they were also going to have bread budding as well; the chicken bones were put into a plastic bag and placed in the fridge, he was going to make chicken soup tomorrow for Pietro, he always made his own broth, none of that store brought, besides it just tasted better. Pietro placed the chicken that he didn’t eat back on the chopping block, careful of the butcher knife laying idle; before placing their plates by the sink for him his wash them; went over to his water glass and slushing it down in the sink, a few droplets splashing onto the quartz countertops where the sink met the wall, before putting it the upper rack of the dishwasher, and coming to a complete stop.

Pietro peered around the kitchen looking for something else to do to preoccupy himself. Before realizing that he forgot to finish off his glass of milk that was sitting at the table. The speedster gave a brief, “Oh!” Seeing that he missed something, came back to table, and slide back the chair, to then climb on top of it to get the glass. Guzzled down the creamy drink.

“My sohn, you have a milk mustache.” The metalbender gave his signature shark-like smile with his many teeth and a small laugh. Pietro being Pietro wiped it off with the back of his hand, dashed off in a blaze of dynamic sliver went off, “Don’t forget to wash your hands!” A blur of sliver and white came back to his side, before making another pitstop to get an oak step tool, so he could reach the sink. It was moments like these that made life worth living, the small and seemingly unimportant moments that tended to be ignored by the ambitious and the Caesars of the world, who focused on world changing and history alternating events, and put themselves right into the middle of it or at least wanted to. Notwithstanding, he did have moments of his own, Cuba and his speech at the White House, founding Genosha. Two small arms hugged his waist taking Erik out of his thoughts.

“Please…Vati! Please don’t go…” Tightening his grip on his jeans and burying his head on his hip.

Erik tried to explain to his son again, hoping he would see and empathize with those who needed him and Genosha the most, “There are mutants who need our help, along with my team. They need me to lead them and my abilities to make this mission a success.” Stretching himself, so Pietro wouldn’t fall to the floor, to get a kitchen towel to dry his hands off messaging the water and placing the towel on the countertops.

“But I need you Vati!” Pietro shouted, he couldn’t take it anymore and tightened his grip even harder so his father wouldn’t leave. Cat’s in the Cradle and the man on the moon; Pietro would eventually have to learn that he wouldn’t be around all the time, he had other duties besides raising his son, others that needed him. What father would he be if he didn’t prepare his own children for his own death? To be independent and capable of making decisions on their own regardless of what he thought of them or his approval; living their lives without him around. Erik brought down a hand on Pietro’s lithium colored hair and soothed out the flyaway with his thumb.

“Everything will be alright, Pietro. I promise you that.” Once again Erik reassured his son.

“No, it’s not!” Jumping off the step stool and stomped his foot on and zipped away up to his room upstairs.

Erik’s eyes looked toward the heaven and muttered under his breath so Pietro wouldn’t hear, “ _Mein Kolibri,_ what I’m I going to do with you?” Erik gave another sigh and kneaded his brow. He still had so much to do and prepare for. Tonight, of all nights for Pietro to act up? “I’ll be up there in a minute. Let me finish up the kitchen…” Projecting his voice, “And don’t forget to get ready for bed!”

Erik went to the storage container drawer and getting hard pyrx and long rectangular plastic containers for the chicken and the sides along with their lids that went with them on the counter. Placed his hands on his hips inspecting the kitchen, there was so much to do, and he just didn’t time for this.

It would be better if he deboned the chicken when it was warm and not cold; he would be exhausted tomorrow, so he had to do it now. He brought over the long plastic container for the chicken sitting it next to the cutting board and the pyrx containers next to gas stove, the where the couscous in a sauté pan with a wooden spoon and zucchini lying on a platter with a serving three prong fork on that.

Every pot, pan, utensil, were all made with his powers in mind and the seemingly uncontrollable objects with those made of wood, plastic, or other material had metal inserts so he could control them. Erik took a few steps back and raised hands like a conductor hitting his baton on his music stand getting the orchestra ready for their evening performance. He called the metal to attention like soldiers ready for marching orders. With a fleur of his right wrist the couscous and zucchini the sauce pan and the serving fork did their duty and put up the leftovers into their respective containers. Took on water and bubbles in the sink, and the scrubber came out and with its bristles and swirled away the leftover olive oil and lemony stock drippings in the pan; after that station rinsed off and settled on a dry towel. And a flick of his left wrist, he craved up the remaining chicken, pulling it off the bone with tongs and the butcher knife, before two forks came up underneath from a drawer to pull the chicken meat apart. The whole kitchen became like an assembly line. Before long things came to a stand still and Erik went up and snaped the lids of the couscous and zucchini and stacked them on top of one another and opened the fridge to place them there. Got out the gallon size bag with chicken bones in it and got the rest of the remaining bones inside and sealed it as the fridge started beeping, telling the inhabitants that the doors had been open too long. Finally, sealing the container with white and brown chicken meat and took that to the fridge and shut it, sealing the cool air in. Came back to the cutting board, taking it over to the sink to wash it with the remaining depleted bubbles, and un-plugged the sink to let the now dirty water drain out, leaving on the bubble remain; sat the cutting board on the drying towels.

Glancing back at the living room, he didn’t see the glint of newly polished Sabbath candlestick holders. Odd…Erik snaped his fingers to turn on the bucket lights and walked over to inspected. It wasn’t sliver at all; it was dull rose gold-coppery with specks of sulfur near the details. How? How did this happen? He just polished them last week. Had he really become that angry with his son? To cause such a reaction?

No…his anger usually made metal objects crush inward on itself. Any case he shouldn’t have reacted and dismissed his son’s feelings. Pietro didn’t want him to leave that was a certain, but he didn’t know why.

The clock struck seven and bellowed. Erik clicked off the lights in the living room and kitchen, only leaving the overhead stovetop lights on and went upstairs. Darkness of the dusk was overtaking Genosha, the little lights of houses, street lamps, the skyline came to life as night was settling in. The children of Genosha falling asleep to the songs and stories. The young adult came out in play, drinking and bar hopping, date night; very much unaware of what their leader’s mission tonight, but it out mind for the most.

Erik unlocked the room across from his bedroom, a room that remained locked until it was needed for war and battle; it the only dark place in the house of light. A lock that he had design himself and couldn’t be opened without the use of his metalbending and electromagnetism powers. No one could come in without his express permission. Well…Scott and Alex Summers could get in if they wanted with their cosmic energy blasts; the lock wasn’t meant to keep them out. If they ever came into his house and wanted to harm his son, the light of his life, the last remaining family member, he would not hesitate for a nanosecond to kill them, even if they were under mind control, they would not harm a hair on his sliver head or he would cause an apocalypse of his own. Erik let slow, smoothing breath out alleviating and letting out all his negativity tolling underneath; he did not want to scare his son before getting ready for bed. He did not want to give him nightmares when he wasn’t here to protect his soul. But Pietro wasn’t getting in anytime soon if he wasn’t in the room.

It was his war room, his fortress of solitude, Erik never allowed Pietro in this room; he forbidden it. He didn’t want Pietro in here. At least not until he older. He felt the entire weight of the island as he entered. The room itself was sparsely decorticate with only a wardrobe and a desk, spartan even. The wardrobe dark and brooding in its wood, double knock, with panels of hand craved scenes of Torah: the creation of world, God’s covenant with Abraham and his decedents, Exodus from Egypt, the revelation at Mt. Sinai, wandering in desert and wilderness for forty years, the entrance into the promise land. Above the scenes was the phrase: לעולם לא עוד. Never again.

The metalbender swooshed opened the wardrobe holding his armor. Magneto.

The armor wasn’t of his design, but of Apocalypse’s. Despite its appearances, it was astoundingly comfortable and light. He just didn’t have the time to design another suit of armor with raising a child, founding Genosha and recusing his kind. Why waste a perfectly good suit of armor? He wasn’t going to deny that it made him look good and not ridiculous like the other iterations of the armor that he designed.

But it was certainly miles better than the current iteration of the X-Men uniform of glorified yellow spandex; a large X on the upper body surrounded by a background of navy. It wasn’t even armor. What was Hank thinking? Did he forget that some of them weren’t bulletproof? Even the flight suit that Hank designed during the Cuban Missile Crisis looked better and could handle extreme G-force, and made the trip in the SR-71 Blackbird less queasy; he still had his for…sentimental reasons. And the bullet that he took away Charles’s legs with. He never forgave himself for hurting his closest of friends.

Erik pulled off his black cotton three quarter shirt and tossed it over the desk chair nearby the desk adjust to hallway wall. Took out the under layer of his armor hanging on a hook on the inner center of paneled door. Put on his first layer of his armor, a skin tight long sleeve sport shirt, clung to every inch of his body. It was followed his pants and boots, tying them in such a way that they would not become loose in battle. Next came the tasset that went on his thighs and clicked into place. The biggest piece of his armor was a combination between a breastplate and plackart that covered most of his chest and back with intricate metal details of sliver and maroon and that followed the contours of his body; but it also supported the back of his neck if he would ever face whiplash. The back and front piece came together, there were no ties to fasten, but a series of interlocking metal tongues that came together like puzzle. But they had to be in perfect alignment for the suit of armor to clip together; it also meant there were no seams in his armor.

Finishing off with his cape; popped into the inner sockets in between the shoulder pieces and breastplate. So, if his cape caught rather that be on an elevator, in a storm, snagged onto a missile. He could simply unhook and release with it with his powers and shed it if necessary. Apocalypse was very fashion forward despite being from Bronze Age. Instead of taking over the world, he should have taken over the world of…Fashion.

Erik took a step to leave, but his cape snagged, forcing him to stop and turn his head around to see Pietro dressed in pajamas, an oversized Pink Floyd T-shirt, with their iconic Dark Side of the Moon album cover with triangular prism filtering out white light and turning it to a rainbow of color, that went to his son’s mid thighs; but underneath he was wearing comfy cotton PJ shorts. The metal bender licked the inner lining of his lip, “Pietro I’ve told---How I feel about you coming in here.” It wasn’t worth it being upset at his over something minor. Turning to face his son Pietro got off his cape so he could face him. “Come _Mien Kolibri_ ,” Scooping Pietro into his arms and using his cape as a blanket, supporting him with both arms. His quick son’s black pearl eyes became like waning crescent moons; he was not long before sleep fully took over, “Let’s get you ready for bed.” Kissing his son forehead, combing back a few strays. The father walked out of the room followed, with a slight of hand closed the door and hearing the series of locks shut tight behind him followed close behind him by his helmet as if possessed.

Father and son made their way to the boy’s room, a side wall filled ceiling to almost touching floor with photographs of ocean waves some emerald green, aquamarine, and deep blue; and then in a corner was the sliver son’s play area laid down on was thick foam puzzle pieces and posters of Batman and Teen Titans and shelving storage to put them in. He had the unfortunate accident of stepping on a Lego brick and that was the last time he allowed his son to play with Legos across his room on the many shaggy rugs scattered throughout. Now he had a designated area to play in; other toys were fine if he put them away once he was done. The laminated wood floors were just easier to take care of with Pietro’s powers zipping across off them than carpet. Though Pietro did have a bigger playroom filled with a mesh swing and ropes, a ball pit, fabric resistance tunnel, space hopper, marble runs, every superhero action figure known to mutantkind and many plush animals from mythical dragons to brown bears and wolves.

The walls painted a bo-ho blue, not vibrate electric blue, but a more subdued gray tinge. But his bedroom was a place of sleep and relaxation for his son; he did not need to stay up all night. Erik walked to the bed, unfurling Pietro’s sheets, letting him get comfortable nestling under the covers with his trusted protector his bunny and charcoal blanket and resting his helmet on the foot of the bed. Erik sat on the edge of the bed, sinking the mattress with his added weight, and the frame giving a creak. He pulled the covers to his son’s chest, crisping the edges. The father’s jaw clinched. Of course, his son would leave his sliver googles on. With tender and care as if he holding a fragile hummingbird, he took the googles by the frame and pulled them off and placed them on the side table with lamp on it guarded by two metal figurines of the Leviathan and Ziz. Smoothing the wild hairs, before making his way to the bookshelf on the other side of the bed.

He glazed the covers, giving slight resistance, with the tip of his pointer finger, trying to narrow down and search for the title that he was looking for and he knew was there in the clustered of titles that only made sense in his son’s whirling mind. He bought for his son, some time ago and felt like it would be appropriate now to read it to him. From Dr. Seuss to Maurice Sendak; Chris Van Allsburg and Ludwig Bemelmans; Ludwig Bemelmans and Judi Barrett and Ronald Barrett; each one filled with adventure and other worlds much different from their own; ready to be read out loud by parents. Until pulling out the book that he wanted. Coming back to his spot, Pietro shifted over in his bed making more room for his father.

Pietro peered over at the picture book that his father; the crystal blue sky draped a large portion of the cover with two white chicken and a girl, his age, staring at the sky in a black school jumper. “I’m going to read _Mercedes and the Chocolate Pilot_ by Margot Raven.”

To the best of his abilities, Pietro read the subtitle: “The tr-true Story of the Berlin Airlift a-and the Candy that Dropped From the Sky.” His natural inquisitive mind already contemplating what it could mean, it was a part of history. Before shifting toward his father, “Can you make candy fall the sky, Vati?”

Erik musses over the logistics of the operation. It was feasibly possible with strips of aluminum tied to the candy…. But how his son reacted to the beaucoup amount of Hostess snacks that he delved into; it was best left up to his son’s imagination. “I have dominion over all things electromagnetic. Sugary sweets and candy I do not. But if I lift a submarine, I think I have it within my power to make candy fall from the _Shamayim_.” Pietro suck in a breathy gasp.

Erik cracked open the hardcover book and licked the inner lining of his lip, “I was actually there. I wasn’t there physically at Berlin when this was happening. But I was in Europe at that time when this book is taking place, so I heard of the Berlin airlift and the humanitarian crisis that was taking place.”

After the dropping of the A-Bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Which was the real first drawing battle lines of the start of the Cold War. There was no reason to drop the bomb Japanese were already defected and ready for surrender. It was the Soviet invasion of Manchuria that made absolute defect inevitable. The United States were already fire-bombing the Japanese homeland, wiping out entire cities; it made little difference it was one or thousands bombs.

The sheer arrogance and self-righteous of the United States to play a Great Game with the Soviet Union With the deadliest weapons known to mankind and to think that they could win. There was no winning in a nuclear winter, just the destruction of human kind and all life on Earth. To think they knew better to change countries’ destinies on the notion that the world would be better if the world looked like the United States and kowtowed to the will of the US; so much for freedom and liberty. The only winning move is not to play. And came out as the victor, but established a hot peace with their former rival and enemy; gave them shock therapy after their fall.

Somehow to the US populace the Cold War was a ‘good war’ with the fall of the Berlin Wall and collapse of the Soviet Union and the liberation of Eastern Europe. But not a second thought about the dear price that Latin America; only a footnote about the Iran-Contra affair and a fleeting memory that would be for the next generation, not given much thought at all. But exempting themselves from any wrongdoing or crimes committed by them. Troubling to say the least. It was a brave new world and the end of history; human civilization had reached it final form. But like all moments in time, they were fleeting.

Erik never founded Genosha on those principles and never wanted the first nation of mutants to make the same mistakes of history of imperialism, colonialism, and persistent need for hegemonic status on the world stage; for those empires, be fleeting in the grand scheme of time; empires fall and crumble rather that be from corruption, internal revolt, revolution, or decadence and hedonism.

It wasn’t just a new dawn for mutants, but a new age for humankind to be rid of hunger, poverty, disease; that for Erik was the markings of a magnificent society for all. It mattered not to Erik if Genosha was territorially vast. He wasn’t a conquer and desired not to dominate anyone. Having a lasting peace and true equality for all those goals were worth pursuing not becoming hegemonic bully in ever growing multipolar world; this wasn’t a zero-sum game to him, all could prosper. He just hoped that other nations would look on Genosha with awe and wonder and want to pursue such goals with them.

Erik got comfortable and starting reading out loud to his son. Showing the illustrations of the bombed-out apartments and houses of Berlin and a little girl Mercedes tending to her frighten white chickens, who only gave her one egg this time. After going inside, her mother read her an article about an American pilot, Lt. Gail Halvorsen, who was delivering supplies and basic necessities, but rained down sweets to children near the Tempelhof Airstrip; becoming known as “Uncle Wiggly Wings,” “The Chocolate Uncle,” “The Gum Drop Kid” and The Chocolate Flier.” But slowly Pietro’s eyelids drooped down little by little and he rubbed his warm dark chocolate eyes to get sleepies out. But it was no use, giving a loud yawn. Getting to the last remaining scene, of Mercedes receiving a brown paper package in the mail filled with a chocolate bar, packs of white and green mint gum, and pink bubble gum too, and a pack of lifesaver rolls colored like a rainbow and a creamy bar filled with nuts and caramel. Little by little as the dark sweetness coated her mouth, read the letter from her chocolate pilot that she had received. Erik folded back the spine of the picture book and sat it down on the side table, he would put it back later.

Pietro wrapped his small arms around his father’s torso, “I love you, Vati.” and Erik drifted his head down to kiss his son’s forehead, before getting up; the mattress springing back. His black eyes gleamed liked diamonds, “I don’t like it. It makes you alone.” Erik confused for a moment for what his son was talking about, and Pietro pointed at his helmet. Why on Earth would he think that?

“No more questions, my sohn. It is time you to go to bed and sleep.” Erik gave a hefty sigh, children, and their endless curiosity. But he would give an explanation, “My helmet protects me from telepaths that want to do harm to me and stops them from getting inside my head.”

Pietro protested again, and pointed out his observation, “But doesn’t make you alone?” Erik’s chest fell as he let out a breath; In a way his helmet did.

The final prayer of the evening: the _Shema._ Erik’s voice rang throughout, soulful that was gained through deep personal experience, and rich with folk tradition going back to ancient Israel and Judah as he sung the prayer. A tradition that he hoped that Pietro would pass on to his children, the many songs of their people. Requesting from God to protect his son in a time of vulnerability, when his soul would return to God; sleep was the brother to death; the many dangers that could emerge during the night. The prayer spoke of Jacob’s blessing to his grandchildren Ephraim and Menashe. A plead to him to show his child kindness and peace, to guard him, guide him in his dreams, and when he wakes. Ending with the _Adon Olam,_ a short hymn: God is with me. I shall not fear, body and spirit in His keep.

He would have no fear for his son. Pietro’s eyes slowly closed completely and Erik made his way out of his son’s room flicks off the lights with the causal use of his powers A nightlight turning on sensing the darkness eclipsing it. Closing the door behind and slide on his helmet on his head. Every mission. Every battle. Every accomplishment. Every failing. Was for his only family he had Pietro, his son. Pietro would live in a safer, kinder, and more egalitarian world that welcomed mutantkind. He had to proactive and not reactive to threats against them. But it was still wasn’t not enough for him; simply recusing his fellows mutants from pharmaceutical companies that were experimenting on them. This wasn’t even getting into the black market. Erik softly shuffled down the steps, making sure not to wake his son as he went down with his heavy boots. He had to do more so this would stop. Never again. Before walking out the door, he touched the _Mezuzah_ on doorpost; protect this house and his son.

His team was waiting outside of his home; the strike team consisted of: Delphi, Kevin Ford aka Wither, Clarice Ferguson aka Blink, Sarah Ryall aka Scanner. All handpicked for this specific mission. Coming up to Selene Gallio, his second in command, would be in charge when he left the island, “Make sure all the hospitals are ready for the incoming refuges, and give word to the mental health facilities as well. Are all social housing units have basic supplies and food and clean bedding and hygiene products?” Erik mind went over the mental check list for the operation both on Genosha and on the continent. It was the last run down, before the mission

It amazed him just how responsive and banded together and the community came together to help their fellow mutant brothers and sisters, who were desperate for aid and assistances. Perhaps the rest of humanity, weren’t just out for themselves in the pursuit of money, power, and so individualistic that nothing else matter except their own ego.

Selene nodded, “Every unit is accounted for and Elixir has already been contacted along with the other heads of departments.” He and the mutants of Genosha would give them kindness and care that was never given by the human governments that allowed this to happen in the first place; they would be home.

“We might be expecting more.” Before adding, “And make sure my son stays in be….” Tampering off when Selene let a small giggle as she held up her hand to cover her mouth. Crossing his arms across his chest, thus straightening his back, and spreading his shoulders back. “Pietro, I thought you were in bed?” More forceful in his response and Pietro’s shoulders dropped. Erik pulled off his helmet and handed it over to Selene, before dropping to a kneel to get to eye level of his son; they were both equal.

“Vati! Vati! Please come back! I don’t want to lose you!” Launching to wrap his small arms around his father’s neck and burying his face in the depth of his neck. Erik supported with his forearms Pietro’s small body and lifted him up. Oh…. that was what was brothering his son throughout the entire night.

Erik reassured his son, “I’m not going anywhere and you are never going to lose me. Not now. Not ever.” The metalbender thoughts went back to Nina and the promises he told her; promises hollowed out and rendered meaningless; he would never playact as a human or deny the full extent of his powers. He was a mutant. “I will always protect you.”

Chu, Pietro kissed his chin. The softest and dearest blush over came Erik’s face. “I love you, papa.” Giving his father a hug. All the anxiety and fear melted away from the young speedster body rejuvenated with positivity. Pietro pulled back to look at him, “But aren’t you breaking Shabbat?”

Erik nodded his head no, “ _Pikuach nefesh_ it’s a law which states that a life overrides virtually any other our religious rules and it means ‘saving a life.’ I cannot allow our mutant brothers and sisters to suffer at the hands of theses humans; I _must_ do something; I cannot do nothing. It is a duty for us and to do nothing means breaking another mitzvah. Am I making sense, my sohn?” Pietro pulled himself into another deep hug.”

“I understand, Vati.” Sucking in watery mucus, not wanting him to go, but understanding why.

“I’ll explain it more in our Torah study tomorrow.” Patting his son’s shoulder. Oh! How he wished he could hold on to his son forever. Just the mere thought of never seeing his child again, frightened him to his core. He never wanted his son to grow up alone and without his family, even if it was just him, guiding him. “Now, it’s time go to bed, it’s already way past your bedtime.” Gently letting down his son until his feet touch the ground. Pietro gave one last hug, before streaking like a comet back to their house, “and lock the door once you’re inside the house!”

Taking his helmet back from Selene and slipping it on. He closed his eyes feeling the vibration of the metal of his homeland sing to once more; from clean and chlorinated water rushing down the pipes, to the street lamps being turned on to light the way for late night walks in the lush parks, to the coffee pots poured into Doctor’s and nurses cups ready for the midnight shift, to the traffic lights going to red to green and directing traffic as for those ready for their TV show or movie marathon with friends and with loads of snacks. This was what he was fighting for.

For the briefest of moments, he felt the hummingbird thundering of his son’s heart pumping iron rich blood through his small body, to the door shutting and lock bolted by Pietro.

His son was safe.

“Let’s move out!”

**Author's Note:**

> Bibliography:  
> https://www.nytimes.com/2017/08/28/opinion/cold-war-american-soviet-victory.html
> 
> https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/bedtime-shema/
> 
> https://www.usnews.com/opinion/articles/2016-05-27/its-time-to-confront-painful-truths-about-using-the-atomic-bombs-on-japan
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfqTZ3e8d6Y&ab_channel=LisaKahle
> 
> https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-1-58536-069-7
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_involvement_in_regime_change_in_Latin_America
> 
> https://www.stripes.com/news/a-bomb-ended-world-war-ii-but-set-stage-for-the-cold-war-1.365555
> 
> http://www.scielo.org.co/scielo.php?script=sci_arttext&pid=S0121-47052013000300001
> 
> https://www.alanstorkey.com/the-unnecessary-cold-war/
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Birkat_Hamazon
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Jewish_prayers_and_blessings
> 
> https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/mezuzah/
> 
> I'll probably be adding another chapter to this. Of when Erik gets back home late in the early morning, he is sees a surprise in the foray upon returning. 
> 
> Please to leave a comment, a kudos, bookmark and/or recommendation. It makes this author want to write more and feel free to ask questions.


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